


Restraint

by parisian_girl



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: A hint of seduction, A hint of smut, And a hint of handcuffs, F/M, MFMM Smutuary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 23:38:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17928545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parisian_girl/pseuds/parisian_girl
Summary: The art of seduction, the art of submission, and the art of restraint. Jack is teaching Phryne a lot more than she ever thought he knew.





	Restraint

**Author's Note:**

> For the Smutuary prompt "handcuffs".
> 
> Thanks to TorieGirl for the beta read!

She had always said that she couldn’t change, and yet she had known, deep down, that with him everything would be different.

She had wanted it to be. And so she had let it flow, giving up any idea of holding on and sitting back to enjoy the ride. Without any effort from her, her life had subtly started to adjust itself, shifting at the edges and blurring at the seams. Things that she had taken for granted were no longer a given; other things that she had never dreamed of became a delightful part of her everyday. Nothing was more different, though, than the nights.

Since becoming his lover, the whole world had become a sensual place; achingly, frustratingly so at times. Her desire seemed insatiable. The knowledge that only he could touch it annoyed her, in part, but it also excited her. She had never before seen the point of waiting for something that she wanted so badly; she had certainly never been willing to leave her pleasure entirely in the hands of one person. It wasn’t something that he had asked her for, and she knew that he didn’t expect it. It was just the way it was. Without meaning to, he was teaching her restraint.

And to her surprise, she was an adept pupil. She had discovered early on that her usual quick fixes didn’t work. Drinking and dancing still held a faint appeal, but the light dalliances that usually accompanied them were unceremoniously abandoned. Instead, she would save it for him, giving herself entirely over to him in a dance of equals that, paradoxically, was anything but restrained. They both tested the boundaries of what they knew, what they had experienced, what they thought the other would like, and he took the lead just as often as she did. It was a revelation to start with. She had thought he would be too shy. And while she had no qualms about teaching a man in the art of her seduction, to discover that she didn’t need to was almost a relief. Like the art of restraint, she quickly found that the art of submission, previously something that she had not had much patience for and struggled to find the right lover for, held its own beautifully gratifying rewards. 

It was a natural progression for her. She had thought about it with other lovers. She had tried softer versions of it, never fully letting herself go, never fully trusting, always in charge despite being tied. The bonds were always loose enough that she could free herself, on every level. She made sure of that. But the cold, hard desire for more lay at the bottom of her consciousness, never completely forgotten.

One moment of rashness after a particularly gruelling day; that was all it took. She had been about to blow the entire stakeout with a single, ill-timed move. He had stopped her. Their hissed argument had been short, sharp, and ferocious, his tiredness and anxiety not mixing well with her impetuousness. Finally, with his hand still firmly holding onto her arm, he had snapped.

_“God help me, Phryne, if you don’t do as you’re told just this once - on_ my _operation - I’ll slap you in cuffs and leave you here.”_

His words had stilled them both.

They hadn’t mentioned it afterwards, but she knew he had seen it in her eyes. It had all been mirrored in his. Shock, a little - he had never spoken to her like that before - and then an unexpected rush of heat and desire as the idea sank in. Her boudoir, not some grubby street corner. Him. Steel tight around her wrists and silk underneath her, and a whole catalogue of pleasure so intense it would border on pain. She already knew she trusted him enough; he would use it, not to dominate her for the sake of it, but for her satisfaction and, she suspected, his own.

In her hardest test of restraint so far, he made her wait.

She knew he was struggling, his desire for it clashing with his traditional sense of what was right and wrong and acceptable, and she knew better than to push. If he wasn’t comfortable, she wouldn’t ask for it no matter how much she wanted it, and so she let him thrash it out for himself. But the idea burrowed, deep into her mind. After just a few days she was on such a sharp edge of need and want that she wasn’t sure what she would do if he told her no.

One evening, though, she could tell. He didn’t say anything - so many of their words to each other never reached their lips - but his kisses were darker, more intense. His touches were firmer. She knew he had brought them home with him, nestled in his pocket; he waited until they were upstairs in her boudoir before taking them out and slowly, carefully, laying them on the dressing table. He asked her permission with his eyes. A single raised brow, giving her an out if she wanted one, making sure that it was really what she wanted.

All she could do was nod.

“Give me a word.”

“A what?”

His voice dropped to a low rumble, his fingers sliding the strap of her camisole over her shoulders, and she shivered.

“A word. If you need me to take them off…they’re not designed to be escaped from, Phryne.”

Her heart thudded, a rush of heat flooding through her. With anyone else, that rush would have brought with it not just desire and hunger but a touch of fear. With him, all she felt was the thrill. She trusted him, completely. She loved him.

“Will ‘stop’ not do?” She teased him lightly, but her voice broke into a gasp as he lowered his lips to her exposed skin and she felt him smile.

“Use your imagination, Miss Fisher.”

It was the first thing that came to her mind, or rather her eyes, lying as it was on the table along with a scattering of other jewellery and a couple of bottles of perfume. It was perfect. 

“Swallow.”

It was the last word either of them spoke all night.

 


End file.
